


Guess Things Happen That Way

by Wojelah



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Community: sg_flyboys, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-21
Updated: 2009-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wojelah/pseuds/Wojelah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheppard. Mitchell. Luddites. In Big Bend National Park.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guess Things Happen That Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skieswideopen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skieswideopen/gifts).



> I am so, so sorry this is late! Title [courtesy of Johnny Cash](http://www.elyrics.net/read/j/johnny-cash-lyrics/guess-things-happen-that-way-lyrics.html).

"You know," Sheppard says casually as he peers through a chink in the cabin door, "this kind of shit never happened in Pegasus."

Cam just _looks_ at him - when Sheppard doesn't turn around, Cam surfaces just long enough to get a shot off and then ducks back down. "I read those reports, Sheppard. This shit never happened in Pegasus because you were too busy with dealing with even _weirder_ shit."

"You saying I'm right?" Sheppard's tracking something out there, the way his eyes keep flicking to the side.

Cam keeps his voice low. "I'm saying let's be grateful for small favors."

"I'd rather be grateful for some C-4 and a puddlejumper." Sheppard hisses and scrambles back. "Come on, out the back." The first arrow thuds into the wood. "And for the record, Mitchell? This is the last time I ever let you convince me to go camping."

\----

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Cam is well aware that the phrase tends to arise whenever he and Sheppard decide to head out together, but really, it's getting ridiculous.

"Luddites," Sheppard growls, but that could be due to the fact that Cam just pulled an arrow out of his arm. They'd made it out of the cabin, taking cover in the scrub as best they could, and now they're holed up into something that might generously be called a cave, carved by some river into the rock back when this wasn't just a wash for the spring rains. Still - it's only a matter of time before the people tracking them catch up.

"They're not real Luddites. Also, not my fault," Cam replies, tying off the bandage.

"Debatable," Sheppard says, and winces as he flexes his bicep. "On both counts. Remind me how we got here again?"

"We decided to play hookie from the Dallas leg of the declassification tour." Rodney had rolled his eyes and Sam had looked indulgent, but he and Sheppard were the ones that kept getting the bulk of the media attention, and it was wearing thin. "Because you swore that the next time some air-headed news anchor asked you what it was like to shoot your commanding officer, you were going to commit a serious crime."

"Maybe because it's not their fucking business." Outside, something rustles. Both of them freeze, listening for more sound, but the night settles back into silence.

"Never said it was." Cam didn't particularly care to recount his stint in rehab another time either, and he'll break the neck of the next person to tell him he owes it to the country to share his story. He'd lived it _for_ his country. That should be enough. They're both tired of feeling like bugs under a microscope and being told it's because they're heroes. "But that might've been when O'Neill and Landry decided we needed a breather." They'd been told to take two weeks off. Big Bend hadn't been _that_ far, and after six weeks of continual roadshow - speaking engagements, interviews, the works - fleeing society had seemed like a decent plan.

"So we went camping." Sheppard's tone is sardonic, and Cam glances at him, but his head is down, his eyes focused on counting ammo and taking stock of provisions. "And then we lost the compass."

"And the map." Cam really hopes they're not going to dwell on that incident. Somewhere, his old drill sergeant is having an aneurysm with no idea why.

"And the map," Sheppard agrees, "and then we wander out of the park, onto somebody's private ranch - a somebody who just happens to think that all this crazy talk about aliens and space travel is the world's biggest conspiracy."

Cam watches him repack the rucksack. "At least we stole his guns." Somewhere, he knows, his old drill sergeants are quietly having aneurysms without any clue as to why. Vala's not even around to blame for it this time.

"Which isn't helpful when he and his posse know how to use _bows and arrows_." Sheppard hefts the pack and looks up. "I feel like we're in a bad horror movie."

"And this is different how?" Cam leans back against the wall of the cave and closes his eyes. The heat of the day is leaching away - it's going to be cold in here soon. It'd make a nice change, frankly. The Chisos aren't near as bad as the border desert, for which Cam gives eternal thanks, but it's still June and it's still damn hot, and they lost their bottled water somewhere in the back country.

"This time I'd almost be grateful to run into the space aliens." They lapse into silence as the dusk gathers.

When it's full dark, Cam grunts and hauls himself to his feet. "C'mon. Let's go." Sheppard's ahead of him, a long, lean shadow at the mouth of the cave, but he lets Cam go first, without a word. Cam knows why without being told: these aren't Sheppard's stars - this isn't his sky, not anymore. If someone's going to try to navigate, it's going to have to be Cam.

\---

They have a plan, now. Sheppard thinks it's a good one. Cam agrees tactically, but the part of him that will forever belong to a farm in Kansas - that part of him wonders what kind of fire they're going to set loose on unsuspecting rangeland, and it isn't thrilled.

"They're watching for us," Sheppard says, and Cam doesn't even have to ask - knows that bone-deep assurance that his team - their teams - their _team_ \- is out there. Too bad the sub-cutaneous transmitters are offline - upgrading the system, Sam had said. It wasn't supposed to be an issue for the eight weeks they were with the dog and pony show. "We get them a message, we keep ourselves alive another day, they'll get here."

"And blowing shit sky-high counts as a message?" Cam's too busy trying to hotwire an incredibly old, incredibly stubborn pickup - in the dark - to look up. The tires are shot and it won't go far, or fast, but it'll do this job.

"I've known McKay a long time." Sheppard's smirk is practically audible. He pauses as Cam fumbles the connection again. "We could just shoot at it."

"We're going to need that ammo, if the other part of your grand plan is surviving another day." Cam swears, but then there's a spark, and that means their time is up - the chug of the engine's going to draw attention. He wedges the weight down on the gas pedal and lets his foot off the brake, and has just enough time to fling himself clear before the truck hurtles towards the cabin they'd holed up in not long ago. The resulting boom is profoundly satisfying - damn well should be, thinks Cam, since Sheppard had splashed everything liberally with the kerosene they'd found and decided to leave behind.

Sheppard's hand is on Cam's shoulder, the touch electric and almost brutal, grabbing him up out of the dirt as the shouting starts. By the time they've made cover on the mountain, his whole body feels alive in a way it hasn't since they won the day and saved the world and made the universe safe enough that now they can tell the planet all about it. It's entirely insane and totally awesome and when he catches Sheppard's eye in the slowly gathering blue light that shows up just before dawn, he knows there's no real need to explain.

Cam's not good at holding back, not when it's important, so he says it anyway: "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

He won't ever be sure Sheppard really said what Cam thinks he hears, barely murmured in the not-quite dark: "I know." Cam can't be sure, but he knows that Sheppard's shoulder bumps his - bumps his and stays put - and they stay there till they hear the choppers, maybe six hours later.

\---

It's two weeks later - long enough for bruises and cuts and, you know, _arrow wounds_ to look a lot less suspicious in front of the cameras - and the roadshow's moving on. They've been in Phoenix all of twenty-four hours and Cam's back to twitching under his skin while he smiles and nods and answers the same questions over and over again.

Sheppard had disappeared as soon as their last event ended - it hadn't been a great day for any of them, really, and they'd all retired to their respective rooms pretty fast. When the knock comes on Cam's door, he's got baseball on in the background and the remains of a room service burger and fries sitting on the desk, and he knows exactly who it's going to be.

Sheppard's there, leaning against the wall, and Cam doesn't even think - just says "C'mon, you'll miss the game," and leaves the door open behind him. He's turning up the volume on the TV when he hears the lock snick closed. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," he says to the figures on the screen. The world is won, the planet's safe, the universe is wide-open and mostly friendly, and in some ways, he was a whole lot clearer on things before that all happened.

Cam turns around. Sheppard's still in the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets. The dry stale air feels just like it did before they launched a truck at a cabin to watch it go boom. "It wasn't supposed to be like this," Cam says, and then he thinks of everything they're risking, and says "This is not a great idea." Then he doesn't have time to say anything else, because Sheppard's closed the gap and they're kissing, all hard lines and clashing teeth and rasping breath. It's not a great idea, but it'll do, and Cam laughs out loud when Sheppard pauses long enough to glare at him and snap, "I am not going _camping_ again." It's not a great idea, but it'll do, and as they stumble to the bed, crowds cheering on the tv behind them, Cam thinks it might just work out, somehow. It'll be all right.

  



End file.
